Back.

I haven't posted here since January.

There was supposed to have been a post in February, but it was based on this book I'd read and I couldn't find the time to skim through it again for the purpose of said post, hence why it still remains unfinished and unposted. And after holding back on one post, naturally, I've not written any others since then. Until now, anyway.

Months have passed and, during that time, I've submitted my thesis, finished the Level 3 exams of my sign language course, and played in a chess tournament, as well as other things. Today is the last day of Ramadan, and in just over a month from now I'll be on a plane to Sabah, where I'll be spending two weeks at a primary school located in an area so isolated that I won't be getting any phone service or internet access. I guess you could say I've been a bit busy.

I've also been looking ahead to doing my PhD, which is likely to begin after the turn of the new year. My supervisor tells me that this time, unlike during my Master's, I'll have such responsibilities as showing up on campus from time to time and taking over tutorials for other lecturers. I suppose it's sort of an induction to slowly prepare me for potentially getting hired as a full-time staff member at the university. 

It's not quite the plan I've always had for myself, but it looks to be the best option at the moment. It's also not what anyone else I know is doing, but I see that as a good thing. I know that the unbeaten path that I've been on for all this time will eventually rejoin the path other people are walking, but it's nice to see that that won't be for some time yet.

Well, whatever happens, I hope I'll still be able to find the time to write in this blog - not because I believe that anyone eagerly anticipates my periodic updates, but to ensure that I spend time writing at least once a month to keep the authorial juices flowing. See you in the next post, whenever that is.

January.

My mom's cousin dropped by today to take her out for dinner. We chatted for a little bit, and she remarked on how quickly the past several years of my university education had gone by. I replied by saying it was, in fact, the contrary - it felt like it had gone by pretty slowly to me.

Of course, that wasn't entirely true. I've written about this before: time doesn't really seem to me to be going by quickly or slowly. It just goes at the exactly the pace that it does. Seconds are seconds, hours are hours, and yes, years are years. I obviously kept this to myself as it didn't really seem like the kind of conversation to be dropping this sort of observation in.

Anyway, it has been several years - six, to be precise - since I started my undergraduate studies at Manipal in January 2013. It's January 2019 now, and I'm rushing to submit my thesis. I say I'm rushing, but I use that word rather loosely here. In any case, I'm confident of being able to finalize it by next week, insyaAllah.

I've already been thinking about what I'm going to do next. That PhD scholarship option seems the way to go at the moment, assuming the terms and conditions are satisfactory. The monthly allowance could be supplemented with a part-time job at (preferably) a bookstore somewhere, leading to a fairly healthy income.

The other option, of course, is to not further my studies and get started with my career. What that career will be, I honestly don't know yet - the thought of having to deal with office politics makes me never want to work with other people, ever.

But enough about that. There's still so much uncertainty with regards to my future that I find it tedious to talk about. At this point I've more or less given up on coming up with concrete, detailed plans for my future because they've never worked out. I've come to accept that the path Allah wants for me is better than anything I could ever come up with myself. It's sufficient to just know where I want to go and make my way there; how I get there is up to Him.

One of Those Nights.

I'm in the final stages of my Master's degree. All that's left now is to make some corrections to my thesis, submit it, and then go for and pass the viva. I'm thankful that I've somehow made it this far. This seemed a long, long way off at this point last year.

Naturally, once you see the end of a chapter in sight, you start to think about what's coming next. To be honest, it's something I've thought about for a while now, but day by day, the need to make a decision becomes more and more pertinent. People ask what I'm going to do once I graduate, and, as often as that happens, it's still not as much as I ask myself that same question.

At the moment, there are only two things that I definitely want to commit to in 2019. The first is my role as Sponsorship Officer in the latest entity I've volunteered for, the Charisma Movement. The other is my journey into the world of the Deaf, as I will resume sign language classes in February.

The big question that still needs answering, of course, is of whether I'll be studying, working or both next year. I'm currently leaning towards going straight into a PhD, but only if the terms and conditions (particularly how much I'll be paid) of the scholarship that I'll supposedly be offered are right. Even if they are, I'm thinking I should probably get a part-time job somewhere to make a little extra and get some experience, probably at a bookstore somewhere.

I don't have big ambitions for my career. There was a point several years ago when I wanted to be rich, but then somewhere along the way I realized that money alone was not enough of a driver for me. It would be nice to have enough money to never worry about finances again, but that in itself couldn't give me enough of a push. There are other things that I value more in my life, namely my relationships with the people I care about.

To not be stuck in a job that keeps me away from home all day, every day means that I get to spend time with my friends and family. I get to watch my siblings grow, spend time with my grandmother, and be a calm, listening comfort to my overly stressed friends. The way I see it, you can always go out and get money, but time that has gone can never be replaced.

How long will this last? God only knows. He has put me into these circumstances for reasons only He is privy to, and I can only trust His plan. There are pros and cons, sure, but there's no such thing as a completely perfect situation. All we can do is be thankful for the good stuff and be patient in facing the bad.

I don't know what's compelled me to write this: yet another poorly-structured collection of thoughts that will barely benefit anyone who isn't interested in my life. I'm gonna read this back months, maybe years, from now, and wonder what on earth I was going through at the time. Well, future Ammar, the answer is simply that it was one of those nights. It wasn't too much of a dark time, but not much of a bright one either. It was in that area in between, where your thoughts and emotions are all mixed together like an experimental soup, and there's no one available at the moment to express them to. You'll probably remember that those nights were quite frequent, and the number of messy blog posts you've gotten out of them is only a tiny taste of how much actually went on.

Well, future Ammar, hopefully you're in a good place. Maybe you've finally figured out what you want to do with your life. Maybe you've finally found that person you want to spend the rest of your days with. Or maybe you've achieved something you've always wanted to do. Whatever it is, hopefully you're happier. And hopefully, 'one of those nights' is now a thing of the past.

Postcards.

A friend of mine recently went to Turkey for a post-graduation trip. I half-jokingly asked for a postcard, not expecting I would actually receive one, but receive one I (eventually) did. I was grateful for it, and it got me thinking about just how great postcards really are as souvenirs.

When someone sends you a postcard, especially in this day and age, it says a lot. A postcard says "Hey, here's a personalized message I wrote just for you, while thinking about you. I'm out here enjoying myself in this faraway land, but I took the time to pick out this postcard in a design I think you'd appreciate, pay money for it, think about what to write to you, write (as opposed to typing) it out in my hopefully legible handwriting, and then locate and make my way to a local post office to then pay more money to get it posted all the way to where you are. Also, I know where you live."

Unless, of course, the message on the postcard is something boring and generic like "Wish you were here!" Something like that indicates that the sender obviously doesn't actually wish you were there with them, because if they really cared enough about you to want you to be there they would have been bothered to write a little bit more than what sounds like something a bunch of marketing executives hurriedly and indifferently came up with during a 5.15 pm meeting. The postcard sender would still know where you live, though.

A regular souvenir, on the other hand - like, say, a keychain - is thus pretty dull in comparison. Someone will come home after a week away on vacation and come back with a bag full of keychains. "Here you go, take one," they'll say. "I just bought these in a rush on my last day so that people won't get all bitter about me not bringing anything back for them. And by 'people' I mean all of you in general; I wasn't thinking about each of your individual tastes and preferences when I got these because I was too busy enjoying myself to cater to each and every one of you," is what they'll think, but won't say.

I'm only joking, of course. I appreciate any sort of souvenir, but I just wanted to highlight just how superior postcards are in that particular gift category. And it's kinda sad how postcards are dying out (this is based on actual statistics as well as common sense).

When I went to France in 2016, I sent postcards to three of my friends back home. The first friend had asked for one, just because of that one song by The Band Perry. The second friend knew nothing about hers until it reached her mailbox - she'd never traveled in her life and I thought it would be a nice surprise that might possibly inspire her to go on a trip of her own someday. And the third friend, well, I don't really remember if I'd offered to send it or if it had been asked for.

So after having sent out postcards of my own, it was nice to receive one (even if it wasn't from one of the friends I'd previously sent a postcard to). I have to admit, though, I probably like sending them more than I do receiving them. I suppose that could just be because I have my own idea of what a good postcard looks like, and it's a different idea from what other people have. Regardless, I want to send more postcards in the future. How many I end up sending is obviously dependent on how much traveling I end up doing, so I guess I should save up.

Upon reflection, saving up money to travel just so I can send postcards to people does sound like something I would do. Which means that I want to do it even more now.

A Thing I Have to Do.

I miss writing.

More specifically, I miss writing about what I want to write about.

To be fair, there are a lot of things that I'd like to write about, and there simply aren't enough hours in the day to write about all of them while also carrying out basic bodily functions. The main reason this is the case, of course, is because much of my time is spent worrying about the one thing I don't really want to write, but really have to: my Master's thesis.

I could be doing better. I should be doing better. I know. If I'd just kept my head down and focused on nothing else, I would've been done with it ages ago, and I'd now be free to do all these other things I want to do, including writing about all these other things I'd really like to write about. Unfortunately, I didn't, and I'm not. And here we are.

The last-minute habit is a difficult one to break, especially when you've been doing it all your life. I do recall overcoming it somewhat back in Manipal, but I was pretty motivated back then. I'm not quite as motivated now.

I come up with all kinds of excuses in my head, but the moment they exit through my mouth I see them for how weak and pathetic they are. The bare truth is just that I've been lazy. Nothing more, nothing less. I've just procrastinated so much that all the work I've been putting off has finally caught up to bite me in my rear.

The worst part is that I'm actually not even that bothered about it. There aren't any alarm bells ringing in my head, no voice yelling PANIC STATIONS! through my mind, no real sense of urgency seeping through my soul. I suppose I just really can't seem to bring myself to truly care about my work.

Maybe that's the problem. Life isn't about only doing things you care about - there are also other things that don't exactly set your pulse racing but are no less important. I suppose those things exist for a reason. Boredom and excitement share the same symbiotic relationship as light and darkness, each needing the other to validate and balance out its existence.

Instead of filling my head with thoughts of  'I hate this' and 'I'd rather do literally anything else', perhaps I need to look at my thesis from a different perspective. Forget about the big picture for once - thinking about how it will help rural women entrepreneurs this whole time hasn't exactly helped, after all. I don't need to truly care about my work, and I should stop trying to; I need to just care enough to get it done. I just need to see it exactly for what it is: a thing I have to do.

I just want to be done with this. And I will be. Then I'll be free to read, write, travel, play football and waste time on the internet to my heart's content. Well, maybe not quite to my heart's content as I'll be 24 this year, a number that's possibly smaller than the number of responsibilities I have. I say 'possibly' because it's never actually occurred to me to list down and count exactly many there are. And now that I think about it, it sounds like a frightening prospect, and I'm probably better off not knowing.

One thing I do know, of course, is that before I can do anything else, I'll have to get through this thesis first. It's been a figurative thorn in my side for almost two years now, and I'm getting sick of it. I want my life back, and the only way to do that is to get this thing out of it.

Let's do this. Let's get this thing done.

Data Collection.

I didn't post anything here last month, because... well, I just didn't feel like posting anything. Things did happen last month, but they were all overshadowed by a lingering feeling of despair and hopelessness that hung over me like stratus clouds when it came to my research. I barely got anything done in March.

But now I'm sort of back to feeling like my life has meaning again. It's been less than a week into April, but it already feels like I've done a lot, and there's even more to come.

I spent the first morning of the month in Shah Alam, meeting up with most of the Rawang team (plus a couple of new faces) to firstly give away free drinks to people jogging by the lake, and then making our way to an orphanage where we were met with the chaos that comes with squeezing thirty 4-to-6-year-olds in one small area. Straight after we were done there, I had to rush back to KL as I had to attend a meeting for an event which I'm part of the committee for.

A few days later, I had another early start, only this time I was headed to Melaka to carry out a pilot study for my research. I just so happened to have a former classmate from Rembau who fit the criteria for my required respondents, and thankfully she was very accommodating and showed me a level of hospitality above and beyond any reasonable expectations. She even helped me get more respondents until I met my quota of five, which was nice. It meant, among other things, that I was able to spend the whole of the next day chilling at home instead of having to worry about getting more respondents. I wish her all the best in her business and in life.

Now I'm making plans for the next stage of my research: the dreaded data collection. I'll have to go to Pahang, Terengganu, Kelantan, Kedah and Perlis to get about 300 respondents, and the current plan is to do it all in one go and in that order. That would realistically mean that I'll be out on the road for more than a couple of weeks, assuming I stay in each state for three to four days.

There's also the possibility of the upcoming general election being held during my data collection, which would mean that I'd probably have to do something dramatic/crazy/stupid like taking a quick flight back to KL to exercise my right to vote, and then heading straight back to continue my research. Now that would be some story.

Judging by my experience in Melaka, the data collection process is likely to be strenuous, and one of my supervisors keeps telling me that I shouldn't expect it all to be plain sailing. She's right, of course, but that doesn't mean I should spend all my time feeling terrible about it. Whatever happens, happens, I suppose. Nothing to it but to do it, as they say.

One thing I've decided to do to make the trip more bearable is vlog it. I'm not really sure how much footage I'll be able to get or how good it'll be, but hopefully the whole video-making process will help keep me sane. Making videos, and particularly shooting and editing them, is something I genuinely enjoy and have missed doing. In among all the negativity that the awfulness of collecting data and being away from home for so long is bound to bring, there is a bright beacon of hope and joy that comes from being able to also use the trip to make videos. The prospect of making videos again has gotten me all excited for the trip now. I'm going out to get new tripods and stuff as soon as I can.

(I do realize that people do 'mini-vlogging' these days through 'stories' on social media, but I can't really get with that. Stories aren't as lasting as proper videos, and require little to no editing. The difference between stories and proper vlogs is the same as it is between instant meals and proper ones. True enjoyment is in the preparation.)

It's going to be a big month for me, and hopefully I can get all the data collection done by the beginning of May, at the very latest by the time Ramadan starts. Following that, it shouldn't take me too long to publish the vlogs. It's eminently doable, and I will try my best to make it so.

Subjectivity.

Image courtesy of beckybedbug.com. Would have used a picture of my own copy but I don't have it on me at the moment.

Several years ago, I read this novel called 1Q84 by the Japanese author Haruki Murakami. It was a very thick book of over a thousand pages and cost quite a bit, but there was something about it that made me curious enough to want to actually spend money on it (probably using some book vouchers, can't quite remember) and then read it from end to end.

One of the reviews cited on the book's cover called it "a work of maddening brilliance", and I was eager to find out why that was so. To be fair to the novel, I did find it rather intriguing, and I quickly sped through it. Not quite as quickly as I did the last three Harry Potter books, but quickly enough.

Oh, it was "maddening", alright.

Upon finishing it, I found myself in a state of frustration and deep dissatisfaction, wondering how on earth a book that left so many questions unanswered (and not even in a good way - there's leaving your reader to speculate and there's leaving your reader hanging) could in any way be considered to be a work of brilliance. Linguistically, maybe, but good language is the minimum you would expect from a renowned author.

After ranting to my roommate at the time about the book, I put it away and haven't really thought about it again since. Until today, that is, when I finished the last book in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series. Similar to 1Q84, it had an ending which I felt was quite unsatisfactory, though in this case it wasn't because there was a multitude of important questions left unanswered, but instead because the story felt as if it'd ended far too abruptly and should have gone on for maybe half a book longer.

I was then prompted to check out some reviews of 1Q84 on Goodreads. The first reviewer absolutely loved it, and crowed on about... well I don't remember really, but I remember that it made sense. It was about looking at the novel as a piece of art and viewing the big picture behind it. What I understood, mainly, was that the plot of a novel was just a component of its artistry, and not the entirety.

Personally, though, I've always felt that the most important thing about a novel was the story, and I'm clearly not the only one. I read a few (very) negative reviews and found myself agreeing with the points raised.

So the question is: Is a novel, first and foremost, a story or a work of art? I suppose there is no right or wrong answer, and it all depends on you and what you care about. Different people appreciate different things, and to different degrees.

I watched the latest Star Wars film with a few friends about a couple of months ago. One absolutely loved it, while another absolutely did not. I was more in the middle - I enjoyed it, though I did admit it was heavily flawed. Three people watched the same movie, yet all three had different opinions about it. (There was a fourth guy with us, but he had nothing to say about the film at all.)

That's the thing about art, and pretty much any abstract concept: it's subjective. There are some things that just can't be nailed down to concrete rules. Art represents diversity - the diversity of opinion. Different people like different things. Different people think in different ways.

One of the major issues with the world we live in is that people can't seem to respect diversity. That's where racism, sexism, and any other negative -ism you can think of come from. If people can't respect diversity in things that are objective (race, gender, etc.), is it really any wonder that they also have a problem respecting diversity in things that are rather more subjective? Is it any surprise that people have difficulty in agreeing to disagree?

(Yes, I do admit that sometimes there are opinions that are just plain wrong. I'm referring to situations where diversity of opinion shouldn't lead to verbal abuse and even physical violence, but somehow sometimes do. You know what I'm talking about.)

So how do we fix this? Does teaching people to respect objective diversity automatically teach them to respect subjective diversity or vice versa? Does one really even affect the other? Who knows. Maybe someone should do a study on that. Maybe someone already has.

I wonder if giving art more importance will help. Back in school, I hated studying it, as I never really had the talent for painting or drawing or crafting anything that vaguely resembled anything. But what if art was more than just making pretty pictures? What if kids in school learned more about appreciating and interpreting art instead of simply producing it? It would certainly make the subject more interesting, as well as helping to develop thinking skills.

In conclusion:

• Art = Subjectivity
• Subjectivity = Important
• Art = Important

This started as a rant about 1Q84, but ended with me... realizing stuff. I guess that's what art can do to a guy. Well played, Murakami. Well played.

I should really read more novels.

Memory.

Here's a little something I wrote some time ago to submit somewhere but didn't quite make the cut. Figured I'd post it here (with a few further edits) so that it'd at least see the light of day. Big-ups to Fizah and Shayan for proofreading.

***

A blinding white light greeted the man as he regained consciousness. It took a while for his eyes to adjust themselves, but when they finally did he became aware of where he was: a small, beige-colored room that was completely empty except for a long mirror on the wall directly in front of him, a small stool underneath it, and the bed he was lying on. The room was brightly lit by three fluorescent lamps on the ceiling. A metal door stood shut next to the mirror.

The man saw himself in the mirror, dressed in a green hospital gown with the lower half of his body covered by a brown blanket. His head was completely shaven. His tanned face looked pale and tired. He tried to move, but found numbness in his limbs.

“Hello…?” he croaked. “Is… is anybody there?”

The door opened. A large orderly in a blue uniform entered, carrying a bottle of water. Without a single word, he pressed a button on the side of the man’s bed to sit him up and proceeded to gently place the mouth of the bottle to his lips. The orderly slowly tilted the vessel, and cool water trickled down the man’s dry throat as he audibly gulped it down.

“Thank you,” he said. The orderly nodded in response before promptly exiting the room.

A few minutes later, the door opened again. This time, it was a smaller, balding old man in a white coat. He carried with him a pen and a clipboard.

“Good evening, John,” he said cheerfully, grabbing the stool by the mirror and sitting himself down by the bed. “You can call me Dr Aziz.”

“Where…” – John stopped to clear his throat – “…where am I?”

“Why, you’re in a hospital, of course!” was the doctor’s enthusiastic reply.

“What?” asked John, confused. “Why?”

Dr Aziz smiled. “You don’t remember?”

“I… I don’t…”

A dark night. An empty road. Bright headlights from out of nowhere.

 “I was… in an accident?”

Dr Aziz nodded, a strange smile still on his face. “You were; a terrible one. Can you tell me what you remember from it?”

Screeching brakes. Crunching metal. Shattering glass. A screaming woman.

John’s eyes widened as a horrible feeling came over him. “Rose,” he said, quivering. “Where is she?”

“Rose?”

John tried getting up, but his body refused to cooperate. He was getting more and more anxious. It was unsettling how… upbeat the doctor seemed.

“My sister… where is she?”

Dr Aziz’s expression suddenly changed. He looked down at his clipboard, his eyebrow raised. Something wasn’t right.

 “Where’s Rose?”

 “Don’t you worry,” he calmly told John. He seemed composed, but no longer happy. “Rose is fine. She’s resting.”

“I need to see her,” John said, almost pleading.

“Soon,” Dr Aziz replied. “You can barely move yourself.”

John let out a long, despairing sigh. He closed his eyes, not noticing as the doctor scribbled down some notes with his pen.

 Dr Aziz removed a photograph of a smiling woman from his coat pocket. He held it up in front of his patient.

“John,” he said. “Take a look at this. Is this Rose?”

John opened his eyes – they widened almost immediately.

“Yes, that’s her!” he exclaimed. “Where did you get this?”

“It was with your other belongings,” replied the doctor. “Are you sure she’s your sister?”

“What? Of course!”

Dr Aziz stayed silent for a few seconds, scribbling down some more notes.

“Is there a problem?” John asked.

“Don’t you worry,” smiled the doctor. “That’s all for now. You rest up and I’ll see you again soon.”

***

The next morning, Dr Aziz entered the room again, wearing his white coat as always. “Good morning,” he greeted John, as cheerfully as he had the day before. “How are you feeling today?”

“I can’t move,” came the reply. John was fairly alert; he’d been awake for a couple of hours. An orderly had changed him into a fresh gown and fed him breakfast before Dr Aziz had come in. “Am I… paralyzed?”

“No, no,” Dr Aziz chuckled. “You’ll be able to move soon. Now, I have a visitor for you.”

“A visitor?”

The door opened. It was a woman, seated in a wheelchair pushed by a nurse. The woman was in a hospital gown similar to the one John was wearing. She also had her arm in a cast and bruises all over her face and body. Despite her battered appearance, John recognized her instantly as the smiling woman from the photograph.

“Rose? Is that you?”

The nurse pushed the wheelchair over to John’s bedside. Dr Aziz motioned for her to leave the room, and she duly obliged.

Rose mustered a smile. “It’s me, darling. Are you okay?”

John looked confused. “What?”

“Is there something wrong?” asked Dr Aziz.

“Is… is this really Rose?”

“Of course it is.”

“Something’s not right,” said John suspiciously. “She looks like Rose and sounds like Rose, but Rose would never call me darling.”

“Why not?” protested Rose. “You’re my husband!”

“What?” John was shocked. “No! I’m your brother!”

There was a startled silence.

“Don’t… don’t you remember our honeymoon?” asked Rose. “Don’t you remember that night on the beach? With the campfire?”

“That… that was with my wife!”

“I am your wife, John,” Rose pleaded. “I’m not your sister!”

She reached out and held his hand. “Darling... try to remember...”

John froze as the woman’s touch triggered a frenzy in his brain. His mind was struggling to reconcile his conflicted memories, and the stress showed on his face. He started to sweat.

Rose quickly removed her hand. “Put him to sleep,” she said urgently. “Now.”

Dr Aziz removed a syringe from his coat pocket and stuck the needle into a vein on John’s arm. He soon calmed down and lost consciousness.

The doctor breathed a sigh of relief. “That was a close one, Laila,” he said. “You might have pushed him too hard there.”

“Perhaps,” Dr Laila said, getting up from her wheelchair. She removed her wig and pulled off the cast from her arm. “But at least he’s still alive. Remember what happened to the last one?”

Dr Aziz nodded at his research partner. She was much younger than he was – about thirty years his junior – but she was equally brilliant. It was the reason why he’d chosen her to work with him on this project.

“At least we’ve made progress,” said Dr Aziz. “We got the memories mixed up again, but this time the misconsolidation didn’t fry the subject’s brain. That means the degree of the error wasn’t as severe as before.”

         Dr Laila was wiping off the fake bruises on her face with a tissue. “That is true,” she said. “Now we just need to bring the error down to zero.”

            “Just a matter of fixing the coding,” Dr Aziz said. “I’m confident we’ll be able to do it before the deadline.”

He placed his hand on his partner’s shoulder. “We’re so close to cracking this, Laila. I can feel it.”

            “We’d better be,” replied Dr Laila. “I hate dressing up like this.”

One year later…

The Opposition Leader, seated at his desk, was listening carefully, not quite believing what he was hearing. It sounded like something straight out of science fiction.

“Let me get this straight, Halim,” he said, addressing his chief aide, who stood before him. “You’re saying this device has the ability to transfer memories in and out of a person?”

“That’s right, sir,” said Halim, nodding. “I saw it happen with my own eyes. They’ve already started mass-producing handheld versions of the device.”

“Do you realize what this means?”

Halim was silent. He knew precisely what it meant.

“Memories come from experiences,” said the Leader. “Experiences dictate the way a person thinks and acts. If this device can take away memories and create new ones, it can completely change a person’s thoughts and mannerisms.”

The chief aide nodded solemnly.

“The government now have a device,” continued the Leader, “that can physically brainwash people. Instead of having to psychologically break down the mind’s defences, they can just go directly to the source.”

“It’s… terrifying, sir,” said Halim. “What should we do?”

“The people need to know,” said the Leader.

“No one will ever believe us,” said Halim, shaking his head. “We’ll sound like lunatics.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

Halim reached into his trouser pocket. “We can’t beat the government, sir,” he said. “They’ve already won.”

His hand emerged; in it was a silver, pen-like object. “The only option left is to join them.”

The Leader stood up, his body tense with fear. “Halim,” he whispered. “What is that?”

Putting on a pair of sunglasses, the chief aide held the device up vertically to eye level. His four fingers were wrapped around it with his thumb perched on top.

“This little thing,” Halim said, “was made specially for you.”

His thumb pressed down on the device; there was a blinding flash.

“How are you feeling, sir?” Halim asked, grinning. He removed his sunglasses. “You look a little dazed.”

The Opposition Leader blinked. “I… I understand now,” he said. “Everything is… so clear.”

“The Prime Minister knew you’d see it our way,” smiled Halim.

Experience.

I've got a big year ahead of me, full of big changes and big decisions. As always, I have no idea how things are going to go, or how I'm going to react to whatever happens, but recently I've found some comfort in the following mantra:

When the time comes, you'll know what to do.

I can't remember if I heard it from somewhere or came up with it myself, but either way, I've found it to usually be quite true. It might not work for everyone, and it definitely won't work without some degree of preparation, but it works for me. It helps to curb overthinking and keeps me calm in the face of uncertainty.

Uncertainty is a big thing for me. I'm not much of a risk-taker; I don't typically do things unless I'm fairly confident of what the outcome will be. I don't like trying new foods or meeting new people unless I'm able to first convince myself that it won't turn out too badly. (Of course, what usually happens is that I either don't try the new food or meet the new people and I move along with my life, or I do and it turns out just fine, thereby rendering all my worries pointless.)

Of course, there's never really any way to be fully certain of an outcome. Only two things in life are certain, as the saying goes: death and taxes. No matter how many reviews I read, watch or listen to about a movie, for instance, there's no way to know if I'll actually enjoy it without actually watching it. But the reviews do help to give some idea of what to expect, as will my previous experiences watching movies by the same director or featuring the same actors.

Experience, therefore, is a crucial part of eliminating uncertainty. The other day, I had to make some phone calls to get data for my research, and the prospect of calling all these government offices seemed hugely daunting...until I actually brought myself to make the first call. Things were a lot smoother and more bearable after that, as I'd already had the experience of making that first phone call and would rely on that experience to make the subsequent ones.

That's an example of firsthand experience, which is always the best kind. Sometimes, though, firsthand experience is out of reach, and you just have to rely on secondhand experience instead. As someone who doesn't talk much (or didn't use to, anyway), I tend to listen a lot to what people say, and sometimes people relate their experiences in matters I've never come near to. I've learned a lot about life from people who've lived far more of it than I have, and it's partly why I didn't get up to a lot of mischief when I was younger. I didn't have to make mistakes because I learned from the mistakes of others.

This year, I'm aiming to actively gain more firsthand experience. 'Actively' is the key word here; where possible, I'd like to do less sitting around waiting for things to happen to me. I started being more proactive some time ago, but this year I'd like to step it up. I'd like to stop being so overly cautious and passive and just...do things instead of thinking up reasons why I shouldn't.

I don't know what I'll end up doing this year, but I can rest easy with the knowledge that whatever happens and however these things happen will be for the best. No need for overthinking.

Ending the Year.

I end the year wondering, not for the first time, if I'd be studying medicine if I'd been to more hospitals when I was younger. I went with my grandmother to visit a hospitalized relative earlier today, and seeing sick people in their beds helps me understand why some people willingly go through the hell that is medical school. Then again, I was pretty insensitive and unappreciative as a child, so maybe more frequent trips to the hospital back then wouldn't have made much difference.

I end the year with a light throbbing in the right side of my mouth. I had a tooth taken out a few days ago as part of my preparation to get braces installed (after having first gone to see the dentist about getting braces about 10 years ago). It was the first time I'd ever had any kind of work done on my teeth other than scaling, and I am not enjoying the aftermath at all. It doesn't help that I've also contracted a bit of a cold, leaving me in some physical discomfort and a feeling of general discontent.

I end the year waiting for the Arsenal game to start half an hour into the new year. I've missed the past few due to them being rather annoyingly timed, and I can no longer be bothered to stay up too late to watch my team play, especially given the way they've been playing recently. Nevertheless, I still need my Arsenal fix, and it hasn't been fun not watching Alexis Sanchez and co. for a while.

I end the year having moved out of my Kajang apartment. I stayed there for 13 months, and it was maybe midway through that period when I realized that I absolutely did not enjoy living in the Kajang-Bangi area. I am fond of my now-former housemates, yes, and the swimming pool and the occasional trips to the futsal court were nice, but as a whole I just couldn't bring myself to look past the traffic, the lack of parking in front of my apartment compound, and the monotony of eating the same things and/or at the same places over and over again. I had good times in Kajang, but for now I'm glad I don't have to go back anymore.

I end the year feeling that I've regressed somewhat. I'm not as disciplined or motivated as I used to be, and neither do I feel like my brain is as sharp. I'm having difficulty summoning the will to do any kind of writing (which sort of explains why this month's post was left this late), and I'm very behind on both my thesis and the novels I'm writing. Motivation comes to me in cycles, and I suppose I'm currently in a downturn. Constantly hoping to be in an up cycle really isn't sustainable, though, and I need to find a solution.

I end the year caring less about more things, and caring more about less things. I've decided to pay more attention to the things that matter to me, like the people who appreciate and care about me, and bin off everything else, like the people that don't. I care less about what people say and think now, even less than before. I guess once you've decided to put more attention towards bigger stuff, you just stop taking notice of the little things. It's all part of growing up.

I end the year with no clear plan of what lies ahead. While I do have a rough timeline in place, there are just so many variables at play that could drastically alter what I've tentatively placed on the agenda. I'm hoping to find some way to squeeze in another trip abroad at some point, partly because I enjoy traveling to far-off places, but also partly because I miss making videos and I need something to make vlogs about.

I end the year with a deeper appreciation of what it means when things happen according to God's will. I am right where I need to be, and things will happen when they are meant to. Effort on my part is, of course, needed, but I've learned to be more accepting when things don't turn out the way I wanted to. Which happens a lot.

I end the year feeling hopeful. The wheel of life continues to spin, and it's only a matter of time before I'll be at the top again. Bring on 2018.

Peaceful.

Been a bit of a strange month for me, in that I've found things to be quite peaceful despite all the noise going on around me. I'm about two months behind on my research work, and I have to report my progress at a colloquium on Thursday. I haven't decided on what reason/excuse to give for that; I don't suppose 'slacking off' would sit too well with the faculty. Maybe 'personal reasons' would suffice.

At this moment in time, I am a bit motivated to do my work, and therefore it's beyond me how I've been so demotivated for these past few months. I suppose once you've climbed out of a dark hole it's difficult to see what it's like at the bottom.

This has been mostly due, I feel, to my attending of a number of talks over the past month dealing with the Islamic approach to, well, being in a dark place. Attending a few of those talks with an old friend helped too. I've managed to find my motivation again, and, for whatever reason, this time it just feels more sustainable than before. Perhaps I just have a clearer picture of what I'm doing, and perhaps it's just the time-running-out factor that's triggered me into action, but generally I just feel more at peace with myself and my research. I just want to get this done with so I can move on to the next stage of my life, whatever that will be.

Of course, I still have no idea what I'm going to be doing once I complete my Master's. My supervisor told me she's submitted my name for a PhD scholarship starting in September of next year, and if I'm interested she'll push it through. While that does sound enticing, I still wonder if it would be better for me to go into the industry first before getting my doctorate. I reckon it could be difficult for a PhD holder with no industrial experience to get a job outside of academics and research, especially considering the amount of salary I'd be asking for.

There's more to that dilemma, but I don't suppose you'd want to hear about the intricacies of it. It's something I myself would prefer not to think about. Deciding on my next holiday destination sounds like a lot more fun.

I have been thinking about going to Ireland, to be honest, as an old friend who's studying there hit me up the other day and invited me to come over. I haven't actually looked up what's there to see in Ireland, as that can wait until later when I want the hype to build up, but I'm sure there'll be something.

But do I want to spend several thousand ringgit on another trip to Europe? It's a few thousand ringgit I could be putting in my savings to buy a house or something at some point. Is that money better spent investing on physical assets or making myself more cultured? Suddenly, thinking about my next holiday destination isn't so much fun anymore.

I guess things will happen in time, and whatever happens will be for the best. The good thing about the future is that it's always still a way off, and you don't really have to think about it too much. For the moment I'll just live in the present and see how things go.

Diversifying.

I've been having this knee problem for the past few months. I picked it up while playing futsal one afternoon, and for the rest of the day I had trouble bending my left leg, or even just putting weight on it. I had trouble sleeping that night because the pain just kept on acting up.

After a while - maybe a few weeks, though I can't remember - my knee stopped hurting and I was able to climb stairs normally again. I wasn't sure if my knee had fully recovered, so I decided to test it out by going for a little jog with my housemates (and a couple of their friends) one night in Putrajaya. I ran at my usual pace, and it was fine at first. After about 10 minutes or so, I started to feel something in my knee, but it was pretty minor so I ignored it like the supposed tough guy that I am. 10 to 15 minutes later, it got worse and eventually I just had to stop running and was forced to walk the rest of the way.

It was only then that I decided to pay a visit to the doctor, which was, in retrospect, something I should have done right from the beginning. There just happens to be a physiotherapy clinic about 10 minutes away from where I live, which was convenient.

I didn't actually get to see the doctor on my first few visits, and just went ahead with the physiotherapy. It was only later on that I finally got my knee checked by the resident specialist - I don't remember what exactly the issue with my knee was (he mentioned a bunch of medical terms that went over my head) but I was just glad that it was nothing too serious. By then, of course, it had been quite some time since I'd first picked up the injury, so my leg didn't really hurt at all. Nevertheless, the injury was still there, and I was advised to go for a few more physiotherapy sessions.

Last weekend, under advice from the physio, I went for a light walk and jog on the treadmill. Happily, I had no issues with my knee and today, the physio said I could now go back to my regular sporting activities, under the condition that I take it easy and preferably while wearing a knee guard. Today's session was therefore the last one for now - and hopefully for a long, long time - and I couldn't help but crack a smile. I was finally free. It sort of felt like I'd just graduated.

Throughout my entire life, I've never suffered an injury like this. I've never had any issues that ruled me out of sports for an extended period of time. I've always assumed that I've either just been pretty fortunate this whole time or my body was just a bit hardier than others. Whatever it was, there's a first time for everything, and this was a very new experience. And it was awful.

I've read about the psychological effects that injuries can have on footballers. Mine was fortunately just a little muscle issue, of course, but there are footballers who get their legs broken and their cruciate ligaments ruptured. It gets very hard to go back into football the way they used to, and many a player has been said to have never been the same after suffering a serious injury.

I'm thankful my injury wasn't a serious one - I could probably have recovered a lot quicker if I hadn't been so lazy with the exercises - but it still affected me psychologically. People who know me know I enjoy playing football more than anything else, and having that taken away from me for such a long period of time just subconsciously messed me up. It's not that I play that much anyway, and I'm not even that good, but when I'm not injured I know that I can play anytime if the opportunity were to arise. When I am injured, however, any possibility of playing is completely ruled out, and that's frustrating.

Perhaps a lesson I can learn from this is that I shouldn't be too dependent on playing football to relieve stress, or to get an emotional rush to fill up the vacuum that everyday life leaves inside me as it sucks out my soul. There are lots of ways to be happy, and just because one outlet is unavailable doesn't mean I shouldn't be able to go off to another one. Diversification is a word that is used in the finance world to refer to spacing out your investments and not focusing on a single entity or industry; perhaps it would be wise for me to start diversifying my emotional investments better.

There are lots of things that I could - and should - put more emotional investment into, especially things that are a lot more important than a mere game. But the thing about football is that isn't 'a mere game', it's a lot more than that. I read a lot about football (though not as much as I used to), and it isn't all just the actual game itself. I've personally learned a lot about politics, geography, business, economics and social issues, to name a few, from reading about football.

And there I go, defending football again. I'm sure there'll come a time when I just get too caught up with other, more important things to read about football every single day, and there will be a time when there'll be other things that make me happier than kicking a ball around a field or court. Is that time anytime soon? Maybe, for the sake of my emotional wellbeing, it needs to be. Being crippled physically shouldn't have to disable me, my brain and my emotions completely.

Kelantan.

Sabak Beach.

I'm at my aunt's place in Kelantan at the moment.

Yes, Kelantan. I've only been to this state once before in my life, all the way back in Form 4 for a school competition hosted by SM Sains Machang. Other than the school, the only other place I went while I was there was a night market at Wakaf Che Yeh, which at the time was a labyrinth of stalls and a haven for cheap knock-off football shirts.

This time around I'm in Kota Bharu, the capital of Kelantan. I flew here yesterday afternoon; an old friend from Rembau who happens to be studying at a university about 10 minutes away from the airport picked me up and then took me for lunch followed by a little tour of the town.

First things first: I seriously underestimated how developed the place would be (and yes, I realize how offensive that might be to some people). While Kota Bharu is, of course, not exactly KL, the town center reminds me a little of Kuantan. Not exactly metropolitan, but not too rustic either.

The reason I'm in Kelantan, by the way, is because I'll be going to Perhentian Island with my housemates (and their friend) later this week. I've never been there, or any Malaysian island for that matter barring Langkawi (Penang doesn't count), so it should, by default, be a memorable trip.

So why didn't I wait until after getting back from the island to write about this little vacation? I'm not too sure, to be honest. Maybe I just feel like writing. Or maybe I just subconsciously know that I'm not going to have much to write about Perhentian. That's not a slight on the island, but instead more an indicator of where my interests lie.

I've spent a day and a half here in Kota Bharu now. My aunt has been staying here for a few years, and her husband is a native, so I've been getting a lot of insight into (a) their life here specifically and (b) life in Kelantan in general. That's the kind of stuff that really gets my attention, not so much the tourist attractions. I mean, I like seeing things that I don't normally see, but that doesn't necessarily mean some kind of natural or man-made structure. It could also be the culture; how the people in the place live their lives.

My life growing up was rather sheltered, I'll admit. I was born into a middle-class family with two well-educated parents and was raised in a neighborhood that the first search result on Google describes as "an affluent and elite residential estate nestled on the hillside of Ampang". When you grow up in that kind of setting, surrounded with friends from similar backgrounds, you sometimes forget that there are plenty of people out there who don't live the same way you do, who go about their daily lives in ways you can't even imagine.

I like learning about how people live. It tells the story behind a person; why they are the way they are. See that guy who never stays back late at work? He's got a sick child at home. See that girl who doesn't talk to anyone outside of class? She has to work two part-time jobs to pay off her family's debts. Understanding a person's story is how you understand a person.

Kelantan is known for being a really rural, traditional place (which is backed up by the statistics: this is the least urbanized state in Malaysia), and coming here, I can sort of see why. These people have a simple, relaxed way of life, and why would they trade that all in the name of  'progress' and being 'modern'? They're happy with how they live, which isn't something a lot of us city folk can say.

That's not to say I'd want to live here, or at least not right now anyway. Maybe someday in the future, after I've done everything I've ever wanted to do, maybe I'll move to the countryside and spend the rest of my days gardening. I'll be one of those old men who slowly drive their motorcycles down the middle of the road and take pleasure in how annoyed all the impatient young whippersnappers driving their cars behind me get when they can't overtake. Maybe someday, but not right now. I'm still an impatient young whippersnapper.

August.

It's been a busy month.

It isn't that August has had that much more stuff to do than usual, but it's certainly felt that way. Besides the usual Rawang stuff, I also had to do an assignment that I absolutely did not enjoy as well as deal with all the housework that came with our maid's sudden resignation. I also managed to injure my knee playing futsal and have been finding stairs to be particularly antagonizing these past few weeks.

But it was mainly that annoying assignment that made this past month feel particularly taxing. For the first time in my life, I did an assignment with the sole aim of passing. Looking back on the assignment now that it's over, and especially in comparison what others did, I feel like I could have done much better if I'd wanted to. I suppose that's what happens when your grade doesn't matter, just as long as you pass.

Next month should be a pretty busy one as well, with a proposal defence, the Rawang visit, and a potential trip to Kelantan being the main highlights, but it helps that all three of those are (a) important and (b) not things that I hate doing. I like having things to do, just as long as doing them doesn't make me feel like I'm dying on the inside.

For anyone who's interested, here are a few things that make me feel like I'm dying on the inside:

a) Doing arts and crafts

b) Attending events that have anything to do with developing 'leadership' or 'entrepreneurship' skills

c) Selling products I wouldn't buy myself

d) Networking

e) Seeing trashy posts on Facebook

And here are a few things, while being objectively mundane, that I find to be at least tolerable:

a) Buying groceries

b) Going to the bank

c) Performing household chores and other errands

Yes, I would much rather do the dishes at home or wait in line at the bank than attend a youth leadership conference. Sue me.

Life is as much about the stuff you hate or tolerate as the stuff you like, I suppose, so maybe I shouldn't complain too much. But then again, complaining about something is one way to channel my frustration at it, and it's certainly a better way of doing so than breaking stuff or something like that.

On a side note, is the Malaysian culture of complaining also an indicator of a constant underlying frustration, for whatever reason, that most of us feel? Would we complain less if our situations were to improve, or would we just then find something else to complain about? Just a thought.

Well, this has been a rambling, incoherent post. I find myself writing stuff like this more often than not nowadays, and I guess it shows the state that my mind is in these days. Guess I'll sign off now.